Out of Commision
by Miss DiNozzo
Summary: Mike doesn't feel well, but lucky for him he's got a few very capable housemates looking after him.


He startled awake, not because he felt well rested, but because his alarm was blaring at maximum volume. He fumbled for the snooze button in the darkness, taking about thirty seconds longer than usual to locate and silence the music. When his room was finally silent again, he collapsed back onto his mattress, completely disregarding any prior intentions he might have had of going running. His whole body ached, and exercise could wait.

Mike had come home from The Drop early the previous night with the excuse of needing to do paperwork and look into a potential lead, but really, he'd had a splitting headache that the alcohol and drinking games weren't helping and he was hoping to come home and sleep it off. He had collapsed in bed the moment he got home, content with never opening his eyes again.

But here he was, teetering on the edge of half awake, trying not to feel sorry for himself. The headache he'd ended his night early for hadn't abated in the slightest and his stomach was roiling. He felt like he hadn't gotten a wink of sleep even though he'd been out for at least seven or eight hours. Either this was the worst hangover he'd had in his entire life or something else was seriously wrong.

Mike suspected the latter, knowing he was careful to avoid heavy drinking the night before at the bar (which had admittedly gotten easier as his housemates became more and more wasted). That almost made it worse, though, because now he had to face the fact that he was sick and that his discomfort wasn't going to go away any time soon. Resigning himself to the fact that being awake wasn't doing him any favors, he let himself drift back to sleep.

When Mike came to for a second time that day, the California sun was streaming through the blinds he forgot to close, causing him to squint in the sudden brightness. He was dimly aware that sunlight meant it was late morning, but he was too out of it to care. Carefully maneuvering his body, he adjusted to a sitting position with his sock clad feet dangling off the side of the bed. He scrubbed a hand over his tired face before shakily standing up and fighting his way to his dresser. Throwing on a pair of faded grey sweatpants and a navy hoodie, he shuffled down to the kitchen.

Charlie was in there, doing dishes by the sink, singing a little song to herself as she worked. He yawned as he walked over to the refrigerator in search of a water bottle.

"Morning, Levi," Charlie sing songed through a wide smile, looking over at him from her post by the sink. He gave her the best smile he could muster, but his head was killing him and her voice combined with the clatter of the dishes was not boding well for him.

"What time is it?" Mike croaked around another yawn. He grimaced at how hoarse and congested he sounded, but Charlie didn't notice so he took a swig of his water and went with it.

"Ten," She replied calmly, turning her attention back to the dishes in front of her. "I was beginning to think we weren't going to see you today." Mike huffed and coughed into the crook of his arm. "I went to get you for breakfast but you were down for the count. How late were you up last night doing paperwork, anyway?"

"It was maybe three when I conked out," Mike lied smoothly. If there was one thing this job had taught him, it was how to lie. She bought it, though, looking at him with a crease of concern in her forehead.

"That's pretty late, Mikey," Charlie sighed, and it seemed like she wanted to say something, but she didn't. She wasn't really in the mood to have another argument with Mike about how hard he worked. She was all for good worth ethic, but her roommate took it to a whole new level, working himself into the ground. There was a moment of quiet in which neither really had anything to say before Mike spoke up.

"Well, I'm still knee deep in paperwork, so," He trailed off, not really sure where he was going with his statement. The only thing he did know was that he wanted to get upstairs and away from Charlie's prying gaze. She nodded as he turned to leave the kitchen before thinking better of it and calling him back a minute.

"Mike," She addressed, "at least have something to eat." She watched in disbelief as he stopped and turned around, proceeding to pick up an apple and leave the room without another word.

When Mike got back to his room, he realized he probably should have actually been doing paperwork last night. Depositing the untouched apple into his trash can, he dropped heavily into his desk chair, completely prepared to look into the briefs Briggs had given him about the bust they planned on making soon. But even the best laid plans can fall apart.

Somewhere after ten minutes of studying the brief the words had begun to blur and run together. His nose was running like a leaky faucet and his coughing had picked up, rattling his bones and worsening his already migraine-esque headache. He was having trouble keeping his eyes open at all, led alone keeping them focused on the file. His sluggish brain couldn't comprehend the work, so he figured it wouldn't hurt to just close his eyes a minute until he could make legitimate progress again. He pillowed his head on his arms, closing his eyes and relishing a brief moment where everything didn't hurt so much.

And that's exactly how Briggs found him forty-five minutes later.

The rookie was asleep hunched over his desk, drooling all over the file. It couldn't possibly be comfortable but Briggs still felt bad waking him up.

"Hey, Mike," Briggs prodded, "Wake up." The younger agent didn't so much as stir. Gently nudging Mike's leg with his foot, he tried again. "Come on, Sleeping Beauty, it's go time." Nothing. Sighing quietly, Briggs bent down by the desk and put his mouth to the other man's ear.

"I swear to God, Mike, if you don't wake up right now," He hissed, holding his hand around the back of Mike's neck. Briggs was satisfied to hear a groan escape the agent's lips, but, feeling the heat radiating from his housemate's neck, his satisfaction morphed quickly into concern. As Mike became more and more coherent, Briggs took in his roommate's appearance. His skin was pale, highlighted with flushed cheeks and dark circles under his eyes. There were beads of sweat forming on his hairline. His features were relaxed, and Paul couldn't help but notice how young the kid looked.

"Briggs?" Mike mumbled in a half asleep daze. His head was foggy, eyes still thick with sleep.

"Yeah, Mikey, it's me," Paul said in a gentle voice as if he were speaking to a child. Mike was almost fully awake now, sitting up in his chair and raking a hand through his hair. "Kid, you look awful."

Mike grunted a little, sniffing wetly before tossing out an unconvincing "I'm fine."

"Sure. I suppose you also want me to believe you have a pet unicorn," Briggs states sarcastically, placing a hand on Mike's forehead.

"Her name is Goldie," Mike mumbled, his lips quirking up into a small smile as he leaned into the cool hand on his forehead. Briggs huffed out a little laugh and shook his head. He eventually pulled his hand back, sighing at the fever he knew was raging behind the kid's eyes.

"What are we gonna do with you, huh?" Paul asked as he brushed a stray hair from the younger's forehead, the situation stirring up dormant paternal instincts. Mike shrugged tiredly and put his head back down on the desk, looking at him with big eyes like a puppy that desperately needed a nap. And damned if it wasn't the most endearing thing Paul had ever seen. "Stay here." He patted Mike's shoulder gently before leaving the room in search of medicine and a thermometer.

When he returned, he found Mike in the same position that he had left him in, if not a little closer to asleep. And as much as the kid needed rest, now was decidedly _not_ the time for him to be getting it.

"Hey, Mikey, I need you to sit up," Paul spoke softly. Mike groaned a little but he eventually raised his head and adjusted to a sitting position. Paul stuck the thermometer in his ear in hopes of getting a better grasp on what was wrong with his rookie. The device beeped and he looked at the numbers, frowning at what he saw. Mike was sporting a 101.6 fever, and he looked miserable for every degree of it. "Okay, sit rep, Mikey. What's hurting?"

"My head, for one," Mike slurs scratchily, "and my throat. My stomach, too." He buried his head in his arms for a moment as he coughed wetly a few times, surfacing to find Briggs holding out two white pills and the water bottle he had grabbed earlier that morning. He reached out and accepted the tablets, downing them quickly and passing the water back to his superior.

"Sounds like a pretty good case of the flu you've got there, bud," Paul informed him, and Mike just nodded. This bug was kicking his ass. He was about to lay his head back down on the desk when Briggs stopped him.

"Kid, that can't be comfortable." Mike just shrugged, not really lucid enough to absorb his superior's words. "How about you climb into bed, huh? Does that sound good?" Mike shrugged again but stood up anyway, dragging himself to his mattress and allowing Paul to tuck the covers in around him. Briggs closed the blinds, plunging the room into semi darkness. "Get some rest, Mikey," Paul mumbled reaching for the door knob, fully intending on leaving Mike to get some rest. But his rookie called him back.

"Briggs, m'cold." And that was all it took. Briggs walked back over, toeing off his shoes, and climbed into the bed next to the younger man. Mike snuggled up to him almost immediately, resting his head on Paul's chest and sighing contentedly. Briggs gently massaged Mike's scalp until the kid's grip on him relaxed and his breath evened out in sleep. He was careful not to jostle the younger man too much as he crawled out of the now warm bed, tucking in the covers on the side he had climbed out of. Mike moaned a little but curled in on himself, drifting again. And Paul was glad; the kid needed it.

He took his time leaving the bedroom, keeping his footfalls as quiet as he could. Pulling the door closed behind him, he sighed deeply. This kid was making him soft.

It was two when Mike came back downstairs, his blanket pulled tightly around him. He crept slowly into the kitchen before practically collapsing into a chair at the bar. The rookie laid his too-warm head down on the cool countertop and sniffed wetly, completely oblivious of the fact that Johnny was sitting at the table just across the room. He had been looking over a case file but looked up as Mike stumbled in.

"Mike?" Johnny piped up. Mike sighed realizing he wasn't alone and decided it was best to not answer. He was exhausted and he didn't need or want to deal with _anyone_ right now, let alone Johnny. He let his eyes drift closed as he heard him getting closer.

"Go away Johnny. I'm not in the mood," He mumbled thickly to his roommate but Johnny just smiled a little and ruffled his hair.

"You feeling any better?" Johnny asked. Mike was most certainly not, so he shook his head gently. He groaned a little bit in pleasure as Johnny's cool hand came to rest on his forehead, but the hand was gone as soon as it had arrived. Letting his eyes drift closed, Mike waited for something, anything, to happen. It felt like hours before he heard Johnny speak again.

"Here." Johnny placed a steaming cup of tea in front of him. "It's elderberry. They say it helps relieve congestion." Mike started to sit up, albeit slowly, but he nodded his head at the Latino and hushed out a thanks.

"Anytime, buddy," Johnny smiled sincerely. "Drink it all, okay? I've got to go out with Briggs to look into a buy, but Charlie should be home in an hour or so if you need anything." Mike nodded lazily, his cold hands grasping the warm mug in pure ecstasy.

"Where's everybody else?" Mike asked tiredly, trying not to let the yawn seep into his voice.

"Jakes is out with Zelanski working in Mexico, remember?" Mike nodded, prompting Johnny to continue. "Paige's at HQ for a meeting and Charlie is running some quick errands." Johnny said, grabbing his keys and moving towards the door. "Yo, Briggs, let's go! Feel better Mikey!"

Three o' clock found Mike passed out on the couch, sleeping through an old rerun of "Back to the Future." The tea had warmed him up a little bit, but he still felt too sick to really appreciate it. He'd cuddled up underneath his blanket and the afghan that was draped against the back of the couch, resting his head on one of the throw pillows. It had been comfy, so, so comfy, and it had taken no time at all for him to drift off.

That's when Charlie came home, loaded down with bags of groceries. As she walked into the kitchen, she saw Mike reclined on the couch.

"Hey, Levi, gonna help me with this?" She called out to him. Mike groaned as he came to, his head was pounding and he felt like he was going to throw up, but still he stood, abandoning his warm blankets. He shuffled his feet as he sluggishly moved into the kitchen.

"You're so lazy," Charlie teased, but Mike didn't respond and just sank into a chair at the table.

"I'm sick, not lazy," He grumbled, laying his head down on the surface. Charlie just smiled and ruffled his hair, the heat there not going unnoticed. "Do I really have to help you with the groceries?"

"No, dummy," She looked at him in disbelief, amusement evident in her tone. "I'm not _that_ mean. I just needed a reason to get you in here to take your meds." Charlie popped open a bottle and put two small capsules in front of him, along with a water bottle. He sat up and downed them before making moves to stand up and go to the other room. "Hey! Where are you going?"

"Back to the living room," Mike croaked, trying to clear his throat. "Hopefully back to sleep."

"Don't go to sleep yet, okay? I'll be there in a minute." Mike followed her instructions, settling on the couch but being careful not to drift off. When Charlie got there, she walked behind the couch and took hold of his broad shoulders. Mike groaned a little bit in pleasure as she started to ease the tension out of his shoulders and neck, making him drowsy.

"I'm tired, Char," He whispered, so she climbed over the couch and turned off the television, allowing her roommate to rest his sore head in her lap. They were both out in a matter of minutes.

 _He couldn't breathe. It was like his lungs weren't working. There was no air._

 _A voice goaded him from somewhere in the room, mumbling about dry drowning and revenge._

 _He tried to suck in a breath, but the life was being sucked out of him._

 _Then the voice was gone, and he was fading. He felt weightless as he floated into the sky._

Mike sat straight up gasping, hands clawing at his throat. He still couldn't get enough air. He was choking. This was it, he was going to die.

But then there was a hand grasping his arm tightly, two cerulean orbs looking into his eyes, and a silky voice luring him from the darkness of his nightmare and back to his bedroom. His eyes slowly refocused and he caught his breath, Paige anchoring him to the space between reality and his delirium.

"Shhh, Mike, you're okay," She soothed running a hand through his hair, "It was just a bad dream." Mike crumpled forwards and rested his weary head on her shoulder, still shaking. Paige rubbed her hand in circles on his toned back, tracing patterns gently in the moonlight. "You're safe."

She gently laid him back on his pillows, pressing her palm to his forehead. He felt warmer than he had earlier that day and Paige strongly suspected that her roommate's fever had spiked during the night. She wandered into the bathroom and came back with a glass of water and a wet washcloth, helping Mike take a sip and draping the cool cloth over his forehead. Mike hummed a little bit in pleasure at the cold compress, letting his eyes close and settling back into his pillows.

Paige crawled back under the covers and snuggled into his side. The night was going to be a long one, filled with fever dreams and hallucinations, but she was going to stay by his side the whole time through.


End file.
